


A Sink in Hell

by Enigel



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Community: cabinpres_fic, Episode: s02e01 Helsinki, Gen, Mentions of past child abuse (non-sexual)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigel/pseuds/Enigel





	A Sink in Hell

Martin had that sneaky quality about him, which naturally attracted Douglas' attention more than if he'd gone about his business casually. Well, as much casualness as Martin ever managed. He was currently trying to sneak into the bathroom unnoticed, so of course Douglas kept an eye out.  
  
What he saw wiped the smile off his face. Had they misjudged Kieran's scary orange belt menace that badly? He couldn't prevent a half-exclamation of shock, and Martin heard it. He turned, quick as a snake, and flighty as a rabbit.  
  
"Martin-" Douglas began. "If you were that hurt, you really should have gone to the hospital. It doesn't matter if Kieran's a child, that's what martial arts are supposed to compensate for."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Martin said, while wrapping himself hastily in the bed cover.  
  
"Those wounds that you seem so disinclined to let me see right now."  
  
"Oh. That." Martin looked away from Douglas. "Those are... not from Kieran. They're... old."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"And I don't want to talk about them."  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
Martin glared at him, regaining some of his customary straight-back posture.  
  
"I think I know better than you what _I_ want."  
  
"That statement in itself is highly debatable, but I don't want us to lose focus. Yes, you do want to talk about them, or I'd never have seen them otherwise. It occurs to me that in all these years of sharing matchboxes in jumped up hostels I've never seen you naked - though, of course, that's because I've never really tried. Given the size of the rooms we usually share, this can only be the result of deliberate evasive action on your side."  
  
Martin opened his mouth to speak, so Douglas preempted him.  
  
"Admittedly, this could have been explained through an entirely unjustified inferiority complex, but now that I've seen you..." Douglas trailed off. He didn't really want to play inquisitor, after all. "You _can_ talk to me about this, Martin."  
  
He sat himself slowly next to Martin, avoiding physical contact, but close enough to allow Martin to speak softly, as if he were talking to himself.  
  
"What's there to say?" Martin whispered. "You've probably guessed it already."  
  
"Indulge me," Douglas said, though what he meant was "indulge yourself".  
  
Martin sighed deeply. "Well, basically, it _is_ what you think."  
  
Slowly, words started coming.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Simon got his share, but then he learnt not to be at home when dad was in one of his moods."  
  
"Why didn't you do the same?"  
  
"Because," Martin sighed, "then I'd get beaten up by the boys in the neighbourhood. At least, this way it was... it was..."  
  
"Kept in the family?"  
  
"Less humiliating if it was a grown-up beating me," Martin finished.  
  
"Caitlin?"  
  
"She was safe. 'You don't hit girls, son. That's no proper man who hits _girls_ '."  
  
"'But it's all right to hit _boys_ , boys are fair game, son'," Douglas finished for him.  
  
"'Snotty, bratty, ungrateful boys, little snots who think they're better than you!'" Martin added, his voice a dreadful mixture of scorn and self-hatred, tinged with the threat of incoming tears. In the end, dry bitterness won. "I've become my father, Douglas," Martin said through clenched jaws. "The one- one thing I swore I'd never do."  
  
Douglas kept silent, because he couldn't defend Martin's behaviour towards Kieran, he just couldn't.  
  
"Sometimes," Martin went on, voice breaking, "children say nasty, awful things that are true, and when- when there's nothing we can say back, we just- just-"  
  
He cut himself off, breathing harshly and biting his lips. Douglas put a comforting hand on Martin's shoulder, rubbing gentle circles. Everything he'd said about Kieran - and which was, Douglas privately thought, rather true - had probably applied to little Martin at some point.  
  
"It's just as well no one wants to- b-be with me," Martin continued dejectedly. "Can you imagine the kind of father I'd make?"  
  
Douglas felt a pang of pain, like an old stab wound. "Martin, no. No. Don't think like that. You don't have to..." Douglas hesitated. But it had been so long since someone had known him well enough. "Look. I like to think I'm a pretty good father, but..." Douglas sighed. He didn't like revisiting those times. He'd been ashamed of very few things in his life, but what he was about to confess was the chief amongst them. "Martin, I... The last time I got drunk, ever, I... I- shoved Emily."  
  
That got Martin's attention. He turned towards Douglas, shock evident in the eyes shining with repressed tears.  
  
"'But daddy, you hurt me!' I remember the surprise on her face, as if she couldn't believe I'd do something like that on purpose. I'd only shouted at her so far. Next day, Amanda had me thrown out of the house; by the end of the following week, I was a freshly divorced man. I only got the right to visit Emily after I was one year sober."  
  
"Good," Martin said brusquely. "I hope you're grateful to her."  
  
Douglas frowned, offended. After he'd bared his soul, the little brat... He caught Martin's sad, knowing look.  
  
"Mum didn't have where to go. Didn't have clever solicitor friends or a house to take all three of us to. What was she going to do? Two out of three children safe, that's not bad at all, and it's not like I was as bad off as little Jimmy next door, who couldn't go to school for days. All I had to do was keep my shirt on in public. Wasn't like I played much sports either."  
  
He wasn't sure what was showing on his face - anger? self-defensiveness? but Martin turned crimson and averted his eyes again.  
  
"I'm sorry, Douglas. You tried to- be kind and I... It's not like it's your fault I grew up the way I did."  
  
Perhaps because it was exactly what Douglas had been thinking, perhaps because the memory of Martin's scars blended with a memory of Martin under Kieran's fists (and the shadow of a memory, Emily flinching away from him, 'daddy, you hurt me!'), but Douglas surprised himself with what he said, too.  
  
"No, _I'm_ sorry, Martin. I... apologise. It's too late for the late Mr Crieff, but I'll say it for him, confident that he'd want to say this to you, were he lucky enough to have gained this understanding while still alive."  
  
Douglas pulled Martin closer, in a gentle but firm hug. "I'm sorry," he repeated softly. "I'm sorry... son."  
  
Martin's back shook and his breath caught on a choked sob. The tears, held at bay so long by his pride, spilled free at the unexpected intrusion of gentleness. He held on to Douglas and let himself be hugged, sniffling quietly.  
  
"I actually think you could make a great dad," Douglas said after a while. "We just need to get you on a date first, to... start off the whole process." Martin huffed, nose still buried in Douglas' shirt. "And I'll be here to provide generous, invaluable advice, Arthur will be here to punish any misconduct by cake..." Martin huffed again. "You'll be fine, Martin."  
  
He thought he heard a "thank you"-shaped exhalation with Martin's next huff; more importantly, he was fairly sure he heard genuine relief in Martin's voice. If it took soggy shirts and uncomfortable revelations about his past, it was well worth it.


End file.
